Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Narinder was looking away from his siblings, he could hear them crying. They weren’t screaming for their captors to stop anymore, they were too tired. He was too tired. There was nothing left.

They’d run for so long, and for what? His found family was now going to die for him. Because he was a cat, and they’d hidden him.

The cat barely had enough strength to stand. Something grabbed him by the scruff, blocking his airway for a moment and pulling old memories out of the distant past. For a brief second, he thought he could hear his mother, telling him he wasn’t supposed to bite anymore since he was a big kit now. Tears welled up in his eyes as the memory faded more quickly than it arrived, drowned out by the pain as his cheek slammed into a stone circle.

It looked like a ritual circle the bishops often used for their grandest miracles, though uncared for and unused, judging by the amount of dirt piled and moss growing. There were even a few small cracks he saw since his face had been personally introduced to the thing. He couldn’t see enough of the runes to know which Bishop ‘owned’ this circle, or what miracle it was meant to bring about. Shamura probably did, but they were behind him, and sobbing just as much as his other siblings. They wouldn’t be in the mood to talk about ancient ruins any time soon. Or ever again. There was no longer time.

A whispering sound through the woods. Trying his best to rise, Narinder only managed to fumble into a kneeling position as he saw pools of black form on the ground in front of him.
From them emerged familiar forms. The Bishops, all four of them. Of course he recognized them from tapestries, scriptures, and tomes. Never in his life had he seen one in person, most creatures of the Old Faith hadn’t. Let alone all four at once, the last time they were all gathered was supposedly a hundred years ago, at a great feast celebrating something important. Shamura would remember the details, and once again Narinder’s heart was saddened at the fact that he would never be able to ask them for clarification.

They were actually sheep, surprisingly enough. A race normally known for their gentleness and kindness. Many assigned these attributes to the Bishops even now. But Narinder knew better. They had ordered the slaughter of all the cats, after all. Apparently cats were evil just for existing, unlike the sacred sheep.

They were dressed in deep black robes with ornate red embroidery along the edges. Mystical, intricate symbols that, from a distance, merely looked like fancy patterns for the edging. Each of them had apparently ‘suffered for their flocks’ in a different manner, and to show this, they each sported bandages in a different place. Often Narinder suspected these injuries weren’t real, but symbolic in some way. Seeing them up close, he could see a black, tar-like substance seeping through the white bandages, and gaps in their bodies where flesh should have been that said bandages were covering. Real wounds, apparently. He didn’t know how to feel about that now that he knew. Perhaps there wasn’t a need to feel anything at all.

The Bishops began to speak. Funny, it was Lamia who spoke, she who represented no evil spoken. What was the point of her bleeding throat, if she could still speak? Though he couldn’t help but feel her voice did not come from her mouth, but above her somewhere. Her disciples claimed this was because her voice truly came from heaven, so she truly did speak no evil.

“This is the last one?” her voice rang over them all. It was strangely grating for a voice from heaven.

“Yes, my sister,” Foras spoke next, he who could see no evil. “There is no other cat anywhere on this earth, not in the Old Meadows or any other. I’m certain.”

The last? Narinder’s eyes widened, and he coughed faintly. For the first time in a while, he spoke. “You hear that?” his own voice surprised him with how weak it was, yet he continued. “You did good… I’m the last one. You… saved me… until the… end…”
Something smacked him in the head. He thought he was a goner, but someone was just punishing him for interrupting the Bishops.

“Just kill it, and let this be done,” Mammon, he who heard no evil, waved to the executioner, who moved forward.

“It’s all over, at last…” Lamia smiled.

Then with deep conviction, the voice of the oldest, wisest Bishop echoed through the trees. Narinder couldn’t help but feel her voice was the most godly sounding of them all. Maybe it was the way she wore her head wool like a cape past her shoulders. Maybe it was the decorations of beads through that head wool of dyed bone. Maybe it was the way she never seemed to be looking at anything, but beyond all.

The others just looked and sounded like giant sheep. But Alecto’s voice and bearing truly felt like something more. “She cannot return. Her chains remain. She is bound… bound forever.” Tears began to roll down her face, despite her eyes showing not the slightest hint of sadness.

Why did she cry? Narinder didn’t understand what she meant by ‘she is bound’ nor did it look or sound like Alecto was truly sad. Maybe they weren’t tears at all, a theory that made as much sense as anything else, as the tears were white and shining and they made a slight chiming sound when they hit the earth below. It changed the color of the grass and earth where they landed.

The executioner raised their ax. Narinder squeezed his eyes shut. He was scared. He tried so hard, but all that he was left in the end was his siblings. At least he wouldn’t have to watch them die, since he was going first. Sharp pangs in his heart as he realized one of them was going to be last… one of them was going to watch the bodies of all their siblings pile up, crying uselessly until the end. There was no one he would wish that fate on, yet his own family would suffer it. Suddenly he wished he had been killed last to spare his siblings something. They did so much for him. They gave up everything. Now they wouldn’t even have their lives.
He tried to think of something warm and happy as the ax finally came down.

~~~~~

Heket tried to shield Leshy’s eyes. But the sickening, meaty sound of the ax going through flesh to hit stone was far too loud. As she heard the ax grind against the stone, and watched her brother’s body slump over, blood pooling in the moss and dirt, Leshy gave off a heartbreaking wail. She held him as he cried… her tears would no longer come, her eyes were dry from crying in the hours before now.

She looked to her other siblings. Kallamar was pale, saying nothing, eyes glued to their lost sibling. Shamura’s many eyes were filled with tears as Leshy’s were. Heket wondered how there was any water left in them for crying. Maybe because she and Kallamar were more aquatic species and needed the water in greater amounts, but the two of them were just out of any tears to give.

Alecto suddenly leaned forward weeping. The tears had been surprising, but the blank face before had not been. But now Alecto’s face had changed and she was wailing her heart out, and for a moment, Heket felt Alecto’s heart match her own. But that feeling vanished quickly when Heket looked at her siblings. They were confused, weeping, broken, bleeding, in chains and rags. She looked at the Bishops. Towering over them all in wools and silks, radiating power. Lamia carefully placed a hand on Alecto’s shoulder to comfort her.

“So many sins upon us, and what have we received in turn?” Alecto didn’t appear to be speaking to anyone specific. “Throats cut, words lost, kits we prepared to burn. Do we prolong the end, refute it’s existence or bring it closer?”

“Alecto,” Lamia spoke firmly. “It’s over, she can’t come back, there are no cats.”

“Yes… yes,” Alecto answered. Heket and her siblings listened as the lingering power, or sadness, or whatever had been woven into Alecto’s words before disappeared. It was now replaced with a sort of mad delight. “Siblings, we have won. Ahahaha! She can’t get us, she can’t get us, she’s trapped. Chained for eternity! AHAHAHA!”

“We are done here,” Mammon motioned at his siblings, and without any further discussion, the four of them sank into the shadows of the forest. The weight that was in the air vanished with them. Heket and her siblings now found themselves staring at the executioner's ax, red with their brother’s blood. One of the other creatures, clad in black and red robes, pulled up Heket and began to drag her to the stone. Leshy fell out of her arms, was she really so weak she couldn’t even hold him?

She shuffled in the grip, but it did nothing. The robed creature laughed at her struggle, and allowed her to wiggle a little longer, just for their own amusement.

No one noticed the circle below Narinder start to hum with red energy between the mossy overgrown lines, or that the shackles and chains that bound him had turned red with rust, and withered away like dust instead of metal.

~~~~~

A warm bright place. Narinder opened his eyes. He felt the ax go through his neck. He felt his head fall from his body. Yet, now it felt like it had never detached, though his neck still stung. There was no way he should be able to open his eyes. But now he did, and he saw white. Pure, blinding white. He looked around.

A void, with no end in sight. Giant chains of silver stretched about like pillars as far as the eye could see. He couldn’t tell if the chains were sprouting from white clouds, or some mystical sea. He couldn’t tell if they were getting lost in the sky, or a cavern’s ceiling. There was a whispering sound that reminded him of a calm day at the beach.

The floor felt strange, though not unpleasant, which was surprising. It was like a mix of water and sand, two elements he normally hated. Sand was gritty, and made his skin itch, water would always get his skin frighteningly cold long before it dried. But this was not gritty, nor was it exactly wet. It also moved a bit like a current. The sensation felt like a light massage on his paw pads, it was pleasant and soothing.

Nothing but the giant chain pillars, and a giant figure some distance away. There were some black lines interrupting the white on the ground, they looked like important sigils of some kind. Narinder didn’t know their exact meaning, but understood it was a pathway. It led to the figure.

“Come closer. You may be dead, but I still have need of you,” a sweet, melodious voice. The figure, a giant sheep not unlike the Bishops, beckoned. Narinder obeyed. He felt strange, light and warm. The shackles seemed to dissolve into nothing. The hunger and thirst faded, strength slowly returned to his limbs as he walked closer. Even the gunk and dirt from days in the prison cell seemed to vanish, leaving his midnight fur silky and clean. He tilted his head, an unspoken question to the figure.

She was not unlike the Bishops in design, but in every other way, she was obviously superior. She appeared to be kneeling, yet her grandeur commanded all his attention. Alecto had seemed like a God, this being couldn’t be anything but a God.

Dressed in white silks, embroidered plainly with golden edges, solid color instead of the intricate symbols on the Bishops robes. Silver chains wrapped around her form, and shackles bit into her wrists and neck. It was unknown if the chains on her wrists would even hurt, as her hands were bare white bones. There was a crown upon her head, like the others, though this one had a red eye, and its pupil was slitted.

Five sickles hung in the air around the figure at equidistant points, right next to five large chain pillars that stretched into the ground right behind her. Two on the left, two on the right, all facing inwards. One in the middle hanging just above the figure's head, facing towards the ground, as though it would cut him in two.

A white veil covered her face, hiding the details from view, though Narinder thought he saw the shadows of three eyes beneath. The exact mood of her eyes couldn't be read, but he could tell her mouth was smiling.

He felt his ears get really warm. This whole place made him feel light and pleasant. It was safe, nice, and special. She was the ruler here, and She continued to speak. “My foolish siblings sought to keep you from me, little champion. Yet in death, they sent you straight to me.”

“Siblings? The four Bishops?” Narinder tilted his head the other way now.

“Indeed, I am the Fifth Bishop, I am the One Who Waits. My siblings reign over Chaos, Famine, Plague, and War, but I, I am the ruler of all things, I am Death itself. All things enter into my domain. All things shall be mine. I watch over all, and none can escape me, not even them,” she motioned for him to come a little closer. Narinder cautiously obeyed.

“So, I’m dead?”

“Yes.”

“This is the end?”

“No. The beginning,” she laughed. “Or perhaps not. For others, it would be the beginning. For you, merely, a continuation of the misery that is life. You walk on the precipice, the Gateway, to life and death, and you cannot pass further since, as I said, I still have need of you.”

“What need has a God of a mortal?” Naridner asked aloud a question he’d often thought these past few years.

“You are my champion,” she repeated. “You will kill my siblings.”

Silence, for a moment. Then Narinder began to laugh. “The Bishops?! You want a measly cat to kill Gods?! Sure, let me get out my sharp kitty claws, I’m sure I could cut into the hides of things made from the very immaterial power of Plague itself! I’ll breeze right into the breath of knives to have a meaningful conversation with the one who cannot hear! I’ll bite into Famine to do damage to the very idea of hunger itself, and Chaos surely won’t leave my organs in all manner of new places as I go forth to fight the one who makes the very world shift like waves of the sea!”

“How poetic,” she laughed. “You make the mistake of believing you will be a pure mortal again when you leave this place.”

Narinder wanted to shriek in anger. This was too much. His body felt a lot better, sure, but his mind was still reeling from everything that had happened in the past few minutes. He’d just died after all, hadn’t he? What on earth was this strange, secret fifth Bishop talking about? Had he just lost his mind in the prison cells? Was this truly the afterlife? Was listening to this sheep god even a good idea? There was a lot he wanted to ask, a lot he wanted to say, but there was too much he wanted to say all at once. Unable to choose what to say first, he stayed silent.

Behind the veil, he thought he saw the smile vanish, but it returned quite quickly. “There is much you need to understand. But start by knowing this, I can give you life again, at a price.”

“A price?” Narinder laughed again. “I have nothing to give you! I have no money, no home, no land, nothing! My entire species is gone! My… my…” he suddenly fell to his knees. “I’m… I’m the last cat. No, I’m dead, there are no cats. We’re gone. They’re all gone…”

“Nothing in my realm is truly lost. The cats are all here, they are all mine. Including you. My price is simple. You will spread my title and doctrine. You will be my vessel, my prophet to spread my word through the lands of the Old Meadows.”

“You… you want me to start my own cult?”

“You will start my cult.”

“Oh, good! Because that’ll go over well! Not like the Bishops put every heretic under the knife the moment they get the chance! It’s not like the villages throughout all the lands are slowly losing all other cults, oh no! Other cults are so welcome in the Lands of the Old Meadows! Hahaha!”

She lightly shook her head. “My siblings desire power over the weak. I already have power over all, you must simply… remind everyone what is already known. That my realm is inevitable. It is true that it will not be easy, but Death itself is your ally now, my champion. Death will mean nothing to you at all. Make mistakes, get hurt, be maimed and martyred. I will send you back no matter how many times, or in how many ways you fail. Your victory may be slow, but inevitable, as I am inevitable.”

“So I’m supposed to slowly chip away at the followers of the Old Faith with sharp sticks?” he sneered.

“I will give you life and power. It is far more than any mortal is meant to have. As I said, you must become my vessel and begin a cult in my name. Do this, and, well… you will have enough power to save those you left behind.”

An image in his mind. His siblings. “What?” his blood went cold.

The One Who Waits still smiled under the veil. “For this, I give you unending life. Do you accept?”

“Do I have a choice?” he shrieked. All the warmth of this place was gone now. He felt cold, frightened, and alone.

“Of course. You always have a choice,” She moved her hand, as if to pat him, but the chains held her back. Instead, Her hands returned to Her sides, and She said a little more quietly. “You have the freedom to make the choice… but you are not free from the consequences of your choice,” the image of his siblings appeared again. His blood again felt cold. “Will you take the sword in my name?”

“I… I accept!” What a lie She told. There was no choice. Not if he wanted to repay the kindness his siblings had shown.

He could feel her smile deepen. “Take this,” her arms splayed out. The chains clinked and became tight as she reached out and looked above. To Narinder’s surprise, the crown on her head floated up. Then down to him, landing softly on his head.

The effect was immediate. His mind began to race at speeds he never thought possible. Strength came to his muscles in degrees that should have shattered his own bones. He felt fire in his claws. Bright lights danced around him.

“Go forth and slay all heretics in my name, my champion,” her voice and laughter rang in his ears.

~~~~~

It looked like Heket was first to the chopping block. No reason, they just happened to grab her first, and so she would be the first to go. There was nothing any of them could do. Leshy tried to claw at the one that pulled her away, but he was merely laughed at, and kicked in the face.

Shamura watched, helplessly, as their only sister was dragged towards the ritual circle and their brother’s body. That’s when it happened.

The moss that had crowded over the symbols burned away. A bright red glow enveloped everything. Bones of past victims rattled around the edges, probably other cats that were beheaded and tossed aside over the years. They watched as the bones seemed to evaporate, and the blood of his brother floated into the air in dancing patterns around his corpse.

Everyone froze. Ritual circles normally glowed the same color as the crown worn by the Bishop it served. But no Bishop had a red crown. There was no ritual that Shamura could think of that this would apply to, the symbols were all ones of great power, that they were sure of. This thought was strengthened with trails of black ichor seeped from the edges of the circle. Ichor was a gift from the Bishops, their own blood, and it was said that only the greatest and mightiest of rituals required ichor.

Whatever this was, it was demanding threads of it from somewhere below the earth. Shamura’s heart raced. Once, as a proud disciple-in-training of Alecto, they would have been overjoyed to see this new ritual, using a color never seen before, doing something so powerful and wondrous. Now all they could think of was that this would be a great time to use the diversion to take their siblings and run away, but they were all too weak, they wouldn’t get far, if they got anywhere at all.

Their brother’s body jolted up, and the head floated upwards. Threads of ichor launched into the bare, dripping neck stump, winding back and forth between head and neck like living threads, pulling the head towards its rightful place. The red streams of light and blood brightened, and expanded like a blooming flower. The world rumbled, there was a great flash of light. In horror and awe, Shamura watched as their sibling’s eyes became aware once again, a third eye appeared in the shadows over their brother’s head, and Narinder coughed up some vile, rotting substance onto the center of the ritual circle.

The blood around him floated down like cloth. The blood had become cloth, a bright red cape wrapped around his frame. Their brother was now standing, breathing, and staring with increasing fury at his former captors.

His claws unsheathed, a hand outstretched. The third red eye above him suddenly floated downward, and wrapped around both of his hands. Now his hands were covered in red eyes and his claws looked more ferocious than any blade. He bared his teeth. “Let my sister go.”

At first there was silence. Then one of the more battle-hardened creatures tried to shoot an arrow at Narinder. Shamura’s heart went icy as they thought of watching their brother die a second time. But that didn’t happen.

Instead, faster than should be possible, Narinder smacked the arrow with a claw. Against all logic, this sent the arrow back towards the shooter with such force, a hole erupted in their chest. Another creature, enraged, charged at him with an ax. Narinder nimbly dodged, and his claws cut the arm off his foe in a swipe, and decapitated them with a second strike.

At once, the remaining captors charged. Narinder bared his teeth and reached out with his strange claws. Shamura was in awe. They knew their brother could fight, all their siblings could, none of them could have survived this long if they could not. But this was on another level, akin to one of the Bishop’s disciples blessed with power beyond mortal comprehension. He was fast enough to dodge arrows, strong enough to block strikes from creatures four times his size without any apparent struggle.

All any of them could do was watch. The creatures all fell to their brother, who mere moments ago was as starved, parched, and weak as any of them. More than them, and beaten besides. Bodies multiplied, until all who would hold their chains were gone, but they were in chains still. For a moment, anyway. With a swipe of his shadow-covered claws, the chains broke as if they had been mere paper, rather than the precious metal few knew how to find, make, or shape.

“Narinder… how?” Shamura gasped through his burning throat.<

“I’ll explain later, but first… I…” his face seemed to grow distant, as the red-eyed covering for his claws swirled up his arms to his head. The third eye Shamura had seen in the darkness belonged to a crown, not unlike those worn by the Bishops. Narinder looked upwards a bit, and his ears twitched, as though there was a sound he was catching. Shamura immediately tried to hear whatever it was that Narinder caught, but heard only silence. “Alright,” Narinder nodded. “I’m going to send you guys somewhere safe.”

He opened his arms, and suddenly red lights spiraled out beneath Leshy. The center was a shimmering expanse of stars, and they watched with horror as Leshy fell in.

“What?!” Heket screamed, but just as she did so, the portal opened up beneath her as well. Then Kallamar, who yelped in surprise. Finally, Shamura, though this one took a moment. Their brother was breathing heavily, he was clearly tired.

“How?” Shamura asked again, that’s all they could really get out of their mouth.

“You’ll see…” Narinder smiled the kind smile he normally only saved for his siblings, and Shamura felt their heart ease a little. This was still their brother. Even if they didn’t understand exactly what was going on, they could trust Narinder, and they would.

Shamura fell into the starry void. It was pleasantly cool, rather refreshing. Then there was a sweet expanse of warmth on their face, like the midday sun.

They realized it was the midday sun. It had been early evening when Narinder was sacrificed. Yet now the sun hung in the center of the sky, which made no sense, as it didn’t feel like any time had passed. Three of his siblings were drinking water and eating some berries in front of him, grateful for the reprieve. Standing in front of him was a very tired, battered Narinder and a fox he did not know, wrapped in a dark robe.

Smiling, Narinder hugged Shamura. Returning the hug, Shamura looked around. This place looked abandoned. It looked like none of the Meadows they knew, though there were piles of ruined stone and old carvings. Rotted wood piles that indicated buildings once stood here, long, long ago.

The only new thing was a cooking pit, where the rest of their siblings were sitting. Carefully Narinder led them to the others, and a bowl of berries. Shamura devoured it greedily. It was no cricket soup, but it was substantial. He coughed, and looked at the berries, and was surprised.

Waxberries. They weren’t all that common, and they needed to be boiled to remove the film around them before eating. What’s more, the small bushes only gave berries once, then never again. Just about any other berry would be a better food source. Looking around, he saw multiple wild bushes growing in the sunshine. A case of using what you had.

“This is Ala, he helped me find this place,” Narinder pointed to the fox. It was an elderly fellow, spots on his muzzle slightly gray. The tail that poked out of his robes looked like it had a crooked bite taken out of the end. The fox bowed to the four of them. Shamura bowed their head slightly in turn. Their siblings followed their example, as they often did.

“Four followers already,” the fox, Ala, said in a deep voice, surprisingly lively for his apparent age, and in spite of many missing teeth.

“Not followers, they’re my siblings.”

“Indeed,” Ala nodded. “Though I hope they become your followers, otherwise there isn’t much point to them here.”

“There is a point regardless. As I said, they are my siblings,” Narinder huffed in annoyance.

“Forgive me, Vessel of the Red Crown,” Ala smiled slightly. “Follower or not, there is much to be done, when they are well again. You cannot do this alone.”

“He won’t,” Shamura interrupted. Just having food in their stomach was already doing wonders. “We will help him with this. Though I would like to know what ‘this’ is.”

Sagely, Ala nodded. “Your brother has been chosen by the Red Crown, by the One Who Waits.”

“Wow, that clears everything up,” Heket mumbled sarcastically.

“I’ve never heard of a Red Crown,” Shamura stated.

“That is intentional,” Ala said. “Many hundreds of years ago, there was a Red Crown, a Fifth Bishop. Her name has been lost, as have many of her doctrines and principles, since the other four did their best to purge any and all knowledge of her existence. They feared her.”

“As they should,” Narinder smiled with a particularly wicked grin.

“I often read ancient manuscripts, both under Alecto and outside of her influence. I still saw nothing of a Fifth Bishop or a Red Crown.”

“Like I said, the original purge started hundreds of years ago. The Four Bishops were exceedingly thorough then. Little was written of her since, if at all. Tell me, what is the oldest manuscript you’ve held in your hands, young spider?”

Shamura thought for a moment. “I was once given the honor of holding a manuscript dated two hundred years ago. It was a monumental day.”

“Indeed… and not even close to the time frame that you would need to see anything of the missing Crown,” Ala smiled humorlessly. “I saw only scant records in my time as a Vessel, and what little I found was in three hundred year old manuscripts, which I read three hundred years ago. Likely even those records are now dust.”

“What?” Leshy blinked. He hadn’t really interacted with the world much, he’d just been shivering there a minute ago. Shamura wondered if there was something wrong, though Leshy seemed to be aware of his surroundings again. Kallamar was still shaking, and not really looking at anything though. They’d attributed that to hunger until now, but a rising concern told them something else was wrong.

They were distracted by the next sentence from Ala. “I’m well over three hundred years old. Despite no longer being a Vessel of the Red Crown, it has left its mark on me, Death is still my friend.”

“Okay you’re old,” Heket growled with her usual tactless candor, “but I think you can’t count, no one lives that long.”

“The Red Crown has great abilities, the God it represents more so,” Ala smiled. “You have seen its power firsthand, have you not? Your brother told me you witnessed his first resurrection… surely a marvelous sight to behold!”

“HE DIED!” Kallamar jumped up, screaming. Heket caught the bowl that he nearly threw off his lap, saving what little food there was inside. “Narinder… you… you died! It wasn’t a quick stab or an illness, or… or… anything you can come back from! YOUR HEAD WAS CUT. OFF!”

“Yeah, I felt it,” Narinder rubbed at his collar, and paused. “What? When did I get this?” he absentmindedly shuffled about his collar, the little golden bell at the center of it chiming.

“THAT IS NOT THE PRIORITY HERE!” Kallamar’s eyes were wild, and despite eating, he didn’t really look like he was feeling any better. He was still pale, and right now, he was about to foam at the mouth. “They’ll just find us and do it again! We ran for so long, and… and…” Kallamar fell to the ground in sobs. Shamura rushed to his side, rubbing his back.

“It’s going to be alright,” Shamura said, as calmly as they could, even though they still felt quite uncertain about the future themselves.

“I thought… we were… it was all…” Kallamar hiccuped between sobs.

“Indeed, all will be well now. Your brother can no longer die, see?” with that, and without any further warning, the fox clawed out Narinder’s throat.

He sank to the ground with a gurgle, his body suddenly disappearing into a mass of red and black light and liquid substance that seemed to flow to the earth itself. It was so fast, none of the siblings had time to react, or say anything. The world was frozen, for a second. Then they heard their brother’s voice shout over to them from far away. “What was that for!?”

“A demonstration,” Ala chuckled, staring at their brother, who had appeared at a large stone entryway. “As I said, you can no longer d-”

“I KNEW THAT ALREADY!” Narinder screamed, launching himself at Ala with an impossible speed. After seeing what Narinder did to the heretics, Shamura wouldn’t have been surprised if Narinder managed to rip Ala apart.

But the fox had some tricks of his own, disappearing into a shadow on the ground that sped off. He reappeared fully formed near the gateway they had seen Narinder reappear from. “I’ll leave you to it, if you need anything else, you know where to find me.”

“I’LL KILL YOU!” Narinder darted for Ala, spinning around so rapidly just watching made Shamura dizzy. However the fox only laughed, and sank into the ground in a red and black flow, not unlike what had happened to Narinder’s own body a few minutes prior.

Narinder growled menacingly at the circle, but then turned back to his siblings. “Are you guys okay?”

Shamura was… fine enough. Their heart was racing from watching their brother die twice in what felt like a span of minutes. Heket had her hands up like she was going to punch something to death with her webbed hands alone, Leshy had extended his fingers to give his claws the best access to the world at large, and Kallamar was starting to hyperventilate, or something.

“This isn’t… this…” whatever his thoughts on the matter, Kallamar couldn’t really seem to get them out. Shamura didn’t really blame him, the only reason they were able to keep any composure was because they were trying desperately to keep steady for the others.

“There’s a river not too far from here, I’ll get some water,” Narinder said. “Maybe that’d help. Keep an eye on him in the meantime,” he darted off before anyone could tell him otherwise.

~~~~~

She had a name, as well as many epithets, once. Long, long ago, before any creature in the Old Meadows could fathom, let alone remember.

Once, she had been Lilith, the Youngest, the Lamb, Death, or the End. Now, it was just the One Who Waits. As sensible as any title she ever held, perhaps the most suitable, since it was all she could, and would, do for some time.

Of course, she still looked after her domain. That was a given. Being a Crown Bearer came with rules. Her body no longer needed sleep, food or water, but it did need devotion. Despite her siblings best efforts, all creatures feared and knew Death. Even if her name and many epithets were forgotten or destroyed, they could not stop the ceaseless flow of fear, curiosity, and dread that trickled down to her domain from every single creature of every walk of life.

Her shins had been shattered, and her chains had forced her to kneel upon the broken bones. The pain was more than any mortal could comprehend. Alone the pain would’ve killed them long before they felt the full force of it. But a God had a higher means of understanding and will, and with that, came a greater capacity to feel and know. Yet the pain, despite its mortally unbearable strength, managed to fit into only a small corner in her mind.

Most of her mind was working on her tasks as Death. Each creature that expired, she felt it arrive, and welcomed it. Not every creature saw her, of course, but those who were more faithful did tend to get a glimpse of her form. Less of them these days, since her doctrine had been obscured. Regardless, her voice was always there for them, as well as a comforting feeling she was able to exude. Their souls would be read, and then the expired being would be assigned its rightful place in the afterlife, be it a Paradise, Purgatory, or Hell.

Sometimes her mind would separate a little further to create a new section of the domain. She could never visit, or see it, so the creation of it was all she had. She probably had made a great deal more than she needed out of sheer boredom alone.

She had been creating a new Purgatory when she felt something being sacrificed on her stone. Deeply amusing. Her siblings had thought that by cracking the surface of all her ritual stones, they had rendered them useless. They never saw holes already on the surface, never knew that, with resurrection being as complicated as it was, it required a ritual sphere instead of a circle.

Blood filled lines thinner than spider threads underground. The network she’d carefully made, filled. Her heart ached, remembering how she was going to show Alecto her proudest achievement. But the One Who Waits had been thrown to the depths of the Gateway, chained between life and death, never to move, before she ever had a chance to show her siblings the power she had obtained. Perhaps for the better. Obviously, they were already terrified of her before they knew she could do this, or she wouldn’t be here now.

Well, at least she had a new vessel to work with. A tom cat with fur darker than a moonless, starless night, yet it still shone with silky radiance in the light of the afterlife. Bright, blood-red eyes that were not typical of mammal-based kin. His eyes matched the crown, she couldn’t help but feel.

Weird that her siblings killed him over her ritual stone, they normally only did that for the basest and most troublesome of blasphemers. The creature here now was not that, she could feel his soul. A trapped, slightly violent, vicious thing, but not without reason. She read it quickly, and inwardly felt her heart sink and rise simultaneously.

Her heart sank as he was the last cat, according to its memories of her siblings. A shame, she liked cats. Not more or less than any other kin. But that mattered little. Cats weren’t the first kin to face extinction, and they wouldn’t be the last. New kin would emerge, as others disappeared, such was the constant flux of the living world.

However her heart rose as Alecto had prophesied a cat would free the One Who Waits. Since there were no other cats, that meant her time waiting was nearing the end.

Originally she’d tried many vessels, cats and other kin. None of them ever got far. She prepared to glorify herself for this creature. She knew she didn’t really look very godly, trapped in a kneeling position, half-dead, wrapped in chains and smelling of preservative herbs and rot. The other vessels needed a little time to see just how powerful she was. Their faith would bloom then, and their power would increase. But that took time.

At least that’s how it had always been. This cat was different, from the moment it saw her, she saw the faith begin to shine. A slightly different variety than what she was used to. Normally based in fear, this one had faith based in her pure godhood. A strange, and very different experience.

Few, if any, of her disciples had anything other than fear-based faith. Her siblings had laughed at her, pointed out their followers who, upon seeing their gods in the flesh, immediately believed in them with great conviction. Instant disciples, Mammon had called them, and the One Who Waits never had any.

This one would succeed where others had failed. Because she didn’t need to convince him of her power. He beheld her and knew.

Of course, he’d spent most of his life irreverent. He did not scrape and kneel to her. In fact, he spoke too harshly for a mortal. But he had just died, which was traumatic, and many creatures say things they don’t truly mean after such a harsh experience. She would not fault him for that.

An image of his siblings above sent directly to his mind caused him to stop his tirade. Not only did her new vessel believe in her from the start, he had a deep bond with these four. A lot of love, but also a deep sense of obligation. Four more or less instant followers. She did not know of their bond with him. She could not read a living soul from here. His love might be very one-sided, but the images of his life made her doubt that. They had protected him for so long he became the last cat, after all.

He was scared to accept this. Not because he doubted her, but he doubted himself. He doubted his sanity before he doubted her power. She had never seen something like this in a creature that just met her. Her heart felt warm for the first time in centuries, and a corner of her mind became entirely dedicated to her vessel.

Not that she hadn’t done that before. She normally designated a mindspace for her vessel. That way she could look in on them at any time, give advice, and equally important, look through the Crown’s eye at the world above. It was her only reprieve here. It had been a long time since the fox had failed so utterly she couldn’t with confidence let him continue to use the Crown. She was looking forward to seeing the outside world through a current lens, rather than through foggy, nearly colorless memories of the recently deceased.

She might’ve dedicated more space than she normally would, but not by much. Of course she would make more of her mindspace dedicated to the one meant to succeed. There was no reason to make it smaller. It’s not like it would get any bigger either, so it was important to set aside a little extra from the start. Well, she could expand the spaces if she wanted, but she wouldn’t need to do that.

He did agree to carry the burden. With a smile she gave him the Crown, and felt the Crown was pleased with this vessel’s mind, more than it had been with any other in the past. Oh indeed, this was the one! Her champion through and through.

Using her immense power, she sent him up through the ritual sphere. The blood had flowed to all the proper places, and the mighty presence of her siblings had gone. Time to see what her vessel was capable of with her own divine eye.

Chapter Text

There was a very unexpected problem not too long after getting started.

The One Who Waits knew there would be problems. Of course there would be. Starting a new religion from nothing was one thing, one that was deliberately set against the main religion of the area would be several levels harder. But not impossible.

She wanted to give Narinder access to the teleportation stones. But her siblings had blocked the ones surrounding her temple. Giant, well-constructed doors held together with a blood seal. No surprise there. So, they would require a sacrifice to open. Again, not a surprise. The details of the enchantment were hard to discern from her place Below, but through the Crown’s eye, she was able to see the requirements for removal, as well as the fact they were different to any blood seals they’d used until now.

Well, not completely different, it was a little familiar. Fighting the chains to look behind her, one more blood seal that bore a striking resemblance to the ones over her siblings doors. So, now she could finally gain some insight on the new seal Alecto had made. It required a sacrifice of the faithful, that was obvious. It was a great deal more powerful than any of the blood seals she’d seen until now, but it required no more than one soul to remove. Weird.

Narinder wasn’t keen on sacrifice. She could feel deep hesitation. There were old villages that still lived near her abandoned land. She instructed him to find an elderly couple she felt the presence of in the outskirts. A pair of centipedes, no family or village remaining, doing their best to survive in a small hut as their bodies withered away from arthritis, fatigue, weakness, and other symptoms of age.

Her siblings were always unnecessarily picky about their sacrifices. They demanded children, the unblemished, or virginal kin. The One Who Waits didn’t care. In fact, the minute Narinder looked at them, through the Crown she was acutely aware they were both close to death. What little faith she had, she used to commit a Sin.

Sin on the part of mortals didn’t mean much. Without the devotion to back it, a Sin on the part of a God would rend the fabric of the universe. Devotion allowed deviation. The cat was truly precious, he had more than enough for her to commit this Sin without destroying anything.

Through the crown she whispered to him. “My Champion, listen, for the woman shall die two days hence, as the sun rests between midday and dawn.” The Sin she committed, she told the cat exactly when someone would die. She felt his devotion grow stronger before it was even proven right. Oh goodness, she adored this little follower! She smiled and continued.

“Begin by preaching of me. Then tell them you need a sacrifice. Tell them when she will die. Tell them that the man will inevitably follow,” not a Sin to state, they were close enough to death that mortal eyes could see that. “They will be angry with you, but take heart. Remind him that he can give her life to me, to allow you to end the tyranny of Mammon.”

He did as he was told, though he wasn’t happy about it. He sneered at them when they got angry, which made her laugh. All but the Fox had shied away when people got angry. A bit of sorrow welled up, as she realized through her connection with him that he was used to every manner of creature being angry with him for merely existing. Her siblings, in an effort to kill all cats, had declared that they were inherently evil for about two centuries.

Thus, a pair of elderly centipedes yelling at him did not phase him. He went back to the cult grounds, and helped his siblings clean the area of the rotten logs and crumbling pillars.

He was extremely resourceful, careful to strip away any lumber or stone that was still useful. His siblings couldn’t help much without tools of their own, so he helped them create crude implements with which to work.

She was surprised he told his siblings about the sacrifice demanded. He was uneasy about it still, and he spoke to them for comfort.

Shamura shook their head. “You already know what I think of sacrifice. I’d be willing to let the One Who Waits live up to her title and wait for you to walk around the Old Meadows.”

“Walking is exactly what I’ll have to do,” Narinder grimaced. He was walking across an entire continent after all. She was surprised how firmly he was set against this. He didn’t want anyone to go through the pain of sacrifice. It didn’t matter if the people didn’t have much longer to live, and not much to live for. It didn’t matter that their deaths could be given meaning, an honor so rarely afforded to mortals.

Displeased, she did not worry. The centipede would come of his own accord, as he was meant to die by sacrifice, and soon. Though, The One Who Waits could make it a little easier.

Everything that died was hers, from intelligent kin, to the critters, even down to the blades of grass. The chick that couldn’t fly away before it was eaten. The kin that fell to heretic blades. The dandelion in the field that reached its life’s end as it sent its seeds off into the wind. She lived up to her title and waited. When an appropriate amount of time had passed, she reached out to a specific soul.

Jil, the female counterpart of the centipede couple, had been pretty annoyed about Narinder’s prediction coming true. She yelled at the One Who Waits, like many did when they were still confused and freshly dead. She had smiled at her, and asked if she wished to send a dream to her husband that the cat’s words of the God of Death were true. Though not her exact domain, sleep was often considered connected, sending a dream to someone recently informed of her existence, and after a fulfilled prophecy would be a simple matter

Suddenly she too, had faith in her. One last chance to speak to her husband before he joined her was all she needed. Though The One Who Waits would never speak it aloud, she was envious of the connection this couple had. Their faith and knowledge boosting each other as well as themselves. Their love tying their souls together far beyond her realm.

Once she had thought her connection to her siblings was similar. But isolation and speaking with the recently deceased had eroded that false notion over the centuries.

With nothing else to do, she chatted with this newly deceased for a while.

“What did you do?”

“What does your grace mean?” It was funny now that she was trying to be polite. She had sent the dream and the couple had wept and promised to see each other again. Now she shuffled uncomfortably and The One Who Waits could tell she was worried about yelling earlier.

The One Who Waits laughed. “I wish to know about your life. What did you do everyday?”

“I was just a farmer ma’am, er, your grace,” she shuffled, holding a wide brimmed hat in her hands. It was always funny to her how souls were so attached to clothing that they could not envision themselves without. This woman had apparently never thought she’d arrive in the afterlife without it, and what right did the One Who Waits have to nullify it?

“All things belong to me, I treasure them. Before your husband arrives, you can tell me how you lived, for it is something I do not understand, and,” she moved a wrist, making her chains echo with clinking in the vast whiteness of the Gateway. “I do not have much else to do.”

So The One Who Waits listened as Jil spoke about farming. She didn’t learn anything new, this was far from the first farmer to die, and she’d been curious even before she’d been put in chains. In fact, Jil learned quite a few things from her.

“Wish I knew about thinning before I died,” Jil shook her head. “You sure pulling off some unripe fruit makes the rest better?”

“Counterintuitive I know,” she smiled. “But the resources for three fruits moves to only one, and the tree can put a little more into its own growth without breaking branches. Not all fruit trees need this, though. At least you know now.”

“What good does it do me now?” Jil muttered.

“Do you not want your garden?”

“Eh? My garden? You… you sending me back?”

“No, your garden here,” she laughed. “The one you had before you fled my brother’s meadow.”

“But, I’m not going back?”

“The garden died without you, didn’t it? Oh, and what am I the god of again?” She would never get tired of seeing the existential delight that slowly dawned and spread across a mortal’s face when they realized something they loved wasn’t gone. “Nothing is lost. Not to me. The house you built with your own hands, the garden you tended and made around it… the little ones you were making it for… they are waiting.”

“They are… waiting…” there were tears in her eyes again.

“Are you ready to see them again?”

“Yes… yes your grace.”

She released the soul, and it floated up. Not very quickly, the centipede wasn’t always a good person, but there was no great sin weighing her soul down to the Hells. She felt the thin thread that would remain until more of her family joined him..

~~~~~

He had appeared the day after his wife’s death. Narinder wasn’t too surprised. He had expected the centipede to be more mad, or accuse him of altering fate with his own hands to ensure his wife died when Narinder said she would. That’s what most people would assume after talking to a cat, anyway.

“You said you would end Mammon’s reign,” the centipede said stiffly. “That a life would help you do that.”

“Yes,” Narinder said, cautiously. “It would,” his mind was full of suspicion. Fair, given the life he lived.

“Then you may use mine.”

An ear twitched in surprise. “It will be a long time before I can end them, regardless of whether or not you give your life.”

The centipede huffed, and stared at the door. Narinder had been too nervous to let him on the cult grounds proper, but he didn’t show it. Kallamar was by his side, the others busy with tasks.

“You don’t need to give your life for a cause you aren’t even a part of!” Kallamar stated quickly. “You have so much to live for still-”

“Foolish squid!” The centipede snapped at him, which made Narinder’s fur stand on edge a bit. “I have nothing! Mammon took my guardian as a bride, whom he toyed with and killed within a week! My children never lived past the age of ten with the clan fights in his wretched Meadow! We moved out here too late, too barren to bring forth more children, and the constant wars prevented us from ever communicating with or seeing our families again! All that I had was Jil, and she left, just as the cat said, when the sun was between midday and dawn.”

There were tears in his eyes and his voice was shrill, panicked, and loud enough to catch the attention of his other siblings, who were now running over. He continued.

“My wife and the goddess you served appeared to me in a dream. I know they are waiting for me now. Make Mammon pay, and my life is yours to use, cat.”

“You would not prefer a natural death?” Narinder asked, his head tilted, ears pointed forward.

The centipede shook his head. Shamura and Heket had arrived, and it sounded like Leshy wasn’t too far behind. They were holding flint spears, not an advanced weapon, but enough to do damage when one had nothing else.

The centipede held his head high. “Natural death is rare, I made peace that mine likely would not be long ago. My body aches, and fails me. I can feel the end creeping up to me. If I’m a worthy enough sacrifice for a god that can kill Mammon, then use it. Do you believe this new god of yours will do that?”

“I know She will,” Narinder said, with conviction.

“Then cause whatever pain you need to harvest my soul.”

“I do not need your pain, only your life,” Narinder said, aware of his siblings all watching with bated breath now. “I have the opportunity to make it as painless as I can.”

“I am in enough pain that I wouldn’t notice. Do what you will,” the centipede gestured at Narinder.

Narinder beckoned him to the door. The crown became a dagger. His hands were shaking. “What is your name?”

Surprised, the centipede raised an eyebrow. “What need do you have for my name?”

“You are the first sacrifice to the One Who Waits in hundreds of years. Your name should be… honored,” his siblings had a lot of mixed feelings about this, but they watched on in silence.

“My name is Agares. You honor me greatly if you truly remember my name. Let me see your Goddess for myself.”

His hands steadied after the centipede’s words. He spoke the words he needed to, and slit the centipede’s throat in one quick, smooth motion. His body dissolved into red and black lights that twirled and spun about the door. With snapping sparks, the magic that held the door peeled away, and the door sank into the earth.

~~~~~

She waited for Agares’ soul to arrive. The cat sacrificed him,, she saw the divine powers do their work, and waited for the soul.

She missed nothing. Not the kin, the critters, or the plants.

But Agares never arrived.

~~~~~

Bright Meadow, Foras domain of Chaos, was the only one Narinder had access to for now. The Old Meadows were by no means a small place. Transportation stones helped, but he still needed to find, or be shown, a stone’s location to use it. There was a chance heretics would destroy stones if they knew he used it frequently, but there were more pockets of simple villagers than outright bloodthirsty heretics.

Plus, if there was one thing Narinder was good at, it was sneaking. Heretics often had no idea he was there until a claw was puncturing their throat. Obviously it was too late for them to do anything at that point.

When the heretics had allies, it was a problem. But while Narinder lacked the heavy muscle setup of a bear or horse, he made up for it with speed and the sharpness of his claws. Or the Crown rather.

It was an interesting artifact to say the least. Depending on need it could shift it’s form. From an endless void for storing anything to a ladle to dish out boiled berries with. It felt like an extension of his Goddess and his body at the same time.

With it was an extreme boost to his magic. The entire world seemed to shift to the increase in his magic. Often he and his siblings had wondered how Shamura had a knack for finding things, or understanding what seemed to be freakishly obtuse riddles. Now Narinder felt magic and knowledge from his Goddess giving him new insight. What had once been complex became basic, and magic became so secondary in nature he sometimes found himself wandering towards the pull of hidden paths more than the world he knew. As though the hidden, flexible, magical paths were where he belonged.

Deep in the Bright Meadows, during his first crusade, he was surprised, and a bit terrified, to find a pocket of strong, bizarre magic. Yet despite the immense power wreathed around an area the size of a room, it didn’t feel dangerous. It felt oxymoronic to say something felt safe and powerful. He pressed onwards, claws flexed just in case.

A slight trail of silvery hanging stars and moons overhead, and he was in a… room? A little world? Whatever it was, it was separate from the Old Meadows, yet still attached to it. The grass of Bright Meadow was yellow in color, and filled the floor. Yet the walls seemed to be… misty, apparitions of black curtain. In the center of this room was something Narinder couldn’t reasonably describe as any kin.

It had, or it wore, or it was, a light blue robe, glowing and floating a few inches above the ground. There was a blue ring that floated where the head would be. It floated centrally above a blue carpet with white embroidery along the edges. The embroidery was images of berries, meats, veggies, and other things floating through hoops. Right in front of the floating robe were two flat rectangles, about the size of his palm.

Cautiously he approached the figure. It did not move. Well, it bobbed a little as it floated, but it didn’t seem purposeful or reactionary. More like a tree swaying in the wind. Although there wasn’t any wind here. His fur was puffing up as his nervousness grew.

After a few minutes of no reaction, Narinder tried to grab the rectangles. It was like they were glued to the carpet, and the carpet was glued to the floor. The cards budged as much as stone carvings, and the carpet didn’t even wrinkle with constant tugging.

Nerves slightly abated, and a bit annoyed, Narinder swiped at the floating robe. It felt like he was bopping an empty sheet hanging on a clothesline. The robe and hoop still didn’t react or move any more than they had been.

It was floating a few inches off the ground. Narinder carefully crouched and tried to look underneath the robe for some sort of mechanism or hint of purpose. Then snapped back sharply with a headache.

He didn’t see much. There were swirls of magic and a glint of something polished or metallic. The Crown tried to decode the magic for him as it had been doing, but it was too much, even for the Crown. It was either too ancient, powerful, or complex for his mind to properly grasp.

Rubbing his temples, he growled at it. It still didn’t move. It took a while for the headache to subside, and in spite of it, this place did feel a lot safer than other areas of the Bright Meadow. Heretics could not enter, and there were no exploding veggies or spiked attack flowers in this small space. So he rested a while on the edge of the grass, still keeping his eyes on it, in case the robe fell off to reveal the headache-inducing madness it covered. But nothing. Shamura would scold him for finding this disappointing. Better it did nothing rather than hurt him. Yet this room held so much… significance. It seemed impossible that it did nothing. He stared at the embroidery again.

Food floating through hoops. He reached for pockets he didn’t have, shook his head, then reached for the Crown. This was still something he was getting used to, but he was increasingly grateful for it. The Crown appeared to have an infinite storage space within. He wondered if his Goddess had placed anything in there for him to use, and he’d tried to summon cool stuff out of it, it being a Godly relic and all, but it seemed he could only pull out what he had put in. In this case a morsel of meat from a slaughtered squirrel. Looking to the hoop, he shrugged, aimed, and tossed it through.

His fur went right back to puffing up, as he had gotten his reaction at last. The food stopped when it should’ve gone through the ring, then turned into black goop. The goop swirled outwards, like oil going down a drain in reverse, to fill the hoop, and white lines spiraled out along the darkness, and settled in place. The white lines made a face, like the kind a child would draw, of someone with their eyes closed.

The white line of the mouth expanded, rather than opened, for it to speak. It had an eerie, even tone, and weird pauses. He couldn’t put his claw on why it was off-putting, but it was.

Weird pauses in its speech for a moment.. “Vessel. of the. Red. Crown.” Then after that sentence, the words flowed normally with pauses where one would normally expect them. “Some Fates cannot be changed, some can be chosen. You are on a branching path of fate now. Choose one,” the two rectangles in front of it flipped over.

Cards, black and white, with hints of green. Naridner could feel some sort of power in them. He looked at the cards. On the left, a picture of some hearts, and on the other, a picture of some creature’s foot. The powers they radiated were similar in design, but different in operation. Like the thing in front of him, it was too much for the Crown to decode to his mortal mind entirely.

“What are these?” he asked the ringed face.

“Evidence of choice. Paths of fate. Need you: vitality,” the ring tilted to the hearts on the left slightly, “or need you: luck?” it tilted slightly to the right, then recentered itself.

Narinder stared at the cards for a moment, hoping for his Goddess or the strange being to give him more information, but neither did. Despite not hearing her voice, he was aware she was always watching, and that made him feel a little self-conscious about the card he chose. After a moment, he picked the card with a foot, the ‘luck’ card the… thing, had called it.

The card suddenly spun around him, other cards appearing from nowhere to spin around him too. He floated for a moment, then the cards all disappeared, including the one he didn’t choose. After blinking for a moment, he looked around. There was a slight power that settled around him, then thinned and spread outward to almost nothingness.

“Who are you?” Narinder asked, after blinking away his confusion a bit.

“Lobon.” the thing, Lobon, answered.

“You just helped me,” Narinder said. Lobon didn’t answer. After a moment, Narinder asked the question he thought his statement implied. “Why?”

“Fate helps and hinders all, with and without reason.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” he bared his teeth.

“The question. Was answered. Not avoided.” Back to the weird pauses.

His tail flicked, and he tried not to let it puff out. Narinder didn’t like this. While he felt no hostility from Lobon, he knew better than to just assume. This thing was dodgy, and it had shared no small magical feat. It felt like the entire world around him was shifting because of the card, and he still didn’t know what the card did.

“Why do you, Lobon, help me, the Vessel of the Red Crown?” he asked between gritted teeth, not really expecting Lobon to answer any more clearly.

“If a Vessel or God finds this place, they are offered strong evidence, to choose a path of fate.” The mostly even voice suddenly turned rather bold, more… alive. “It is their birthright, as mine is to watch over them.”

Well, not super clear, but better than the answer before. So Lobon was helping him because it… had to? Wait, since it talked, calling Lobon a thing or it was rude. He? She? They? Well… he could ask, couldn’t he? How did you politely ask about that? He felt like he’d always known Shamura was a ‘they’ rather than ‘he’ or ‘she’ but he didn’t think he’d met anyone else the same way. At least not anyone who spoke about it. Now that he thought about it, Shamura generally didn’t correct strangers when they guessed, they just went with whatever gender others assumed they had and moved on.

“Um… when you’re talked about, do you want to be he, she or they?” he asked, tilting his head to the side a bit.

There was a slight, almost musical hum. “I was referred to with ‘he’ by my… Creators.” there was a lot of weight on the last word. A happy, almost reverent feeling. The power in the room pulsed, like it was stronger for the word alone.

“So is that what you prefer Lobon?”

“Yes. It has been long.” The even tone left once again for a deep sadness. Maybe it felt so much stronger because the rest of Lobon’s voice was so flat, or maybe he was deeply sorrowful about his missing Creators.

“Was My Lady, the One Who Waits, one of them? Or her siblings?”

“No,” there was a bit of sharpness, like anger, then it went back to the creepy even tone from before. “Irrelevant now. They are long gone. My purpose remains. My purpose will always remain. It was…” the emotion came back, wistful. “...their wish.”

“Okay,” Narinder nodded and, because it felt polite, gave a slight bow. “Thank you Lobon.”

There was a strange clicking sound, like someone winding a clock, and Lobon said “There are more paths, choices missing… find…” his voice was getting strange and quiet. “my deck… for it is… incomplete,” the clicking stopped, and the face in the ring blinked out of existence.

“Lobon?” Narinder twitched an ear, and waited. Lobon had gone back to bobbing about like a breeze was pushing him. Narinder tried throwing another piece of squirrel meat into the ring, but it just plopped on the other side like he’d originally expected it to.

“I guess… you’re done?” Narinder tilted his head, and waited a while. It still felt safe in here, and now it felt justified enough that he could relax a little, and Bright Meadow wasn’t going to run away. He tried to practice meditation, but fell asleep instead.

Upon waking he tried throwing food through Lobon’s hoop again. Still didn’t do anything, so with a shrug and a bow, he left the little pocket world.

~~~~~

Through the bright yellow grass he trudged on. He held his arm, a heretic had managed a lucky swipe. The deep gash was painful, but to his surprise it was healing very quickly. He felt the power through the Crown boosting him and he smugly grinned to himself.

He’d get revenge. There was no doubt in his mind that the other gods had been scared of his Goddess for a reason.

Still, his wound wasn’t healing instantly, and it wasn’t exactly comfortable. After dispatching a small camp of heretics, he found a stream and began to wash his arm carefully. The water was cold, but at least his arm was less of a mess. Might be his imagination, but it seemed to be healing faster without all the gunk of half-dried blood around it.

Ears twitching, alert for anything that could be a threat, he continued to walk through the meadow. There weren’t many trees, but the grass was more than tall enough to hide in. He moved carefully from patch to patch, seeing no one for a while, then he felt aware of something nostalgic.

It was a charm similar to the one Shamura had used around their family wagon. It produced safety, and no one knew how to make them anymore. The gods had taken that knowledge away due to great sin committed in the past… or so they said.

Narinder was also surprised that the Crown couldn’t decode this magic either, though it tried. It was more simple than Lobon’s little pocket world, that was for sure. He felt at the cusp of being able to recreate it, but not quite. Materials he did not know or could not find. Words in a language forgotten. It danced at the edge of his brain until he willed the Crown to stop trying. He shook his head to remove the vestigial ideas and made his way to the small, invisible pocket of safety.

In his many travels around the Meadows with his siblings, Narinder had seen other traders with the same charm. Anyone who traveled with one was a blasphemer of the worst kind, thus stuck together and didn’t rat each other out easily as they secretly traveled between villages to sell and buy. Still, Narinder wished for his hood. Some were more volatile about him being a cat than others. Of course, some didn’t even know what a cat looked like, but you couldn’t really tell these groups apart.

He watched the little wagon and the small table outside it carefully. A black duck, in a cloak made of red feathers, hummed as he moved some books and scrolls around. Narinder walked up slowly. Aware of a new presence, the duck looked up.

“A… cat?” The duck sounded surprised. Narinder’s own eyebrows raised. The duck didn’t look old enough to have seen other cats, but he sounded pretty sure. His claws came out, unsheathed, and he watched carefully.

After the duck looked Narinder up and down, he had a weird look on his face. He scratched his head, then pointed to the small table covered in books and scrolls. “I think some of these might technically belong to you.”

“Technically belong to me?” Narinder was suspicious.

The duck looked a little sheepish. “Well, you know, the magic scrolls and all.”

“Magic scrolls?” Narinder was still carefully tapping his claws at his side. The duck didn’t appear to have any weapons, which was stupid. He was probably an adept magic user then, otherwise, even with the protective charms on his wagon, he wouldn’t survive.

The duck pointed at one of the scrolls on the table. “Like this one,” he looked up at Narinder, smiled and shuffled a little.

“If they’re magic, why don’t you use them and keep them? Though they don’t look any different to any other scroll to me,” it was meant as a sort of warning to not try and rip him off, he could feel magic pouring out of two of the scrolls, including one the duck pointed at.

Instead the duck awkwardly continued talking. “I know what they are when I see them. But, I’m not meant to keep them. They… they’re like… pieces of something big and powerful? And they want to go back. They… they aren’t supposed to sit on a table in the middle of nowhere and I’m sounding crazy, aren’t I?” The duck looked down at his feathery hands in embarrassment. “I… I have normal stuff to trade too, if you have money,” he added quickly.

“Why do you think they belong to me then?”

“Because you feel like them, but bigger? Oh, by the herd, I know I sound like I’m off my rocker…” the duck looked like he wanted to bury himself in a hole and never come out.

Narinder looked at the table, namely the two scrolls that reeked of magic. One white, and one blue. How the paper had been turned such a rich, deep, and even blue he didn’t know. Both had been sealed with wax and a little ribbon. Curious about the blue paper, Narinder tried to pick that one up.

The seal disappeared, the scroll unrolled, and the Crown floated in front of him to become a book with a thousand rapidly turning pages. It paused for just a second, and Narinder could see a torn edge. The unfurled scroll had a matching edge, and floated into place, now looking as though it had never been a separate thing. The book closed, became a Crown once again, and landed back on Narinder’s head.

He knew. Without really learning, he now knew some basics of masonry. He couldn’t build anything elaborate, but he was very confident he could make a pretty stone path, even though he’d never done so before.

“You weren’t lying,” it felt as though something had returned, when he didn’t even know something was missing. The duck looked very surprised.

“I’m… glad you have your… page, back?” The duck smiled warily.

Narinder nodded. “I don’t think I caught your name. My siblings and I used to trade through the Meadows in a larger wagon. I’m Narinder, but if you ever traded with us, it was probably with my older sibling Shamura, a purple spider,” he bowed, mentally kicking himself for not remembering his manners earlier.

The duck smiled and bowed in turn. “I’m Clauneck. I don’t remember anyone like that, sorry. Do you want the other scroll- oh, it’s gone already,” he frowned, looking at the spot on the table where it was.

“Already? They disappear?”

“After a while, yeah. I can make them hang around if I break the seal and look at them, but not for very long, and any other pages I have disappear when I do. Most of the time I can’t understand what they say anyway, so I stopped.”

Narinder had a thousand more questions. “Where do you find them?”

“Around, it’s different every time,” Clauneck waved his hand vaguely.

“Really? How’d you get the one I have?”

“Um… I think I traded a book for that one. From a deer.”

“How’d the deer get it?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“How’d you get the scroll that disappeared?”

“Half-buried in the ground by some stone ruins. I think.” Clauneck shrugged

His tail swished, but he stopped. He looked at the other things on the table. Parchments, papers, and inks. Kallamar could make ink, so that wasn’t something he was interested in getting, but the stacks of parchment seemed like a good purchase, if he had enough gold.

“How much for the parchment?”

“Parchment is ten gold a sheet, hemp paper’s two gold a sheet.” Narinder looked the products over carefully. It was well made, and the sheets were fairly large. Probably goatskin, in case of the parchment. Satisfied, he bought one sheet of parchment and four hemp paper. Clauneck nodded thankfully. “I’ll give you a good deal if you bring me good animal skin or a lot of hemp. My suppliers are running low, as of late.”

“Any chance I could convince you to add an area to your travel route?”

“Not at this time,” Clauneck said with a weary sigh. Narinder nodded. His family had been the blasphemous sort of traders as well, you needed to be careful when and what you added to your routes. Sure, his family could’ve abandoned the ancient wagon with it’s mysterious magic, but he was still a cat, so whatever they did was blasphemous anyway. Might as well hold onto what safety they could.

Still, Clauneck was odd. Most other traders relied on those safety sigils because there was something else blasphemous about their business. Heretical missionaries, wards and charms made without faith in the Sheep, illegal writings, or metal implements. Well, Narinder had his own secrets, Clauneck was entitled to his own as well, as long as it didn’t hurt Narinder in the long run. He gave a polite bow in farewell, and headed out of the pocket of safety back into the Bright Meadows.

~~~~~

This was wrong. Bizarre and wrong. The One Who Waits combed through her domain again and again, becoming less picky about her sorting each time.

All the recently deceased. Then all who died in the past year. Then she started going down in increments of intelligence. The kin, the animals, the bugs, the plants. Nothing.

Her heart went cold as she remembered one of Alecto’s later projects, to destroy souls. Why she had needed to know that, the One Who Waits never asked, she trusted her sister then. Now she suspected it was to ensure her domain would never become stronger than her sister’s. A fool’s errand, as it was already many times stronger, so it would take thousands of years of hard work and unwavering faith to push Alecto past her in power.

Of course, Alecto had taken advantage of The One Who Waits trust long ago, and asked for her expertise, souls being such a large part of her domain. The One Who Waits had laughed.

Her siblings saw the basic essence of a soul, true. But it was a complicated thing, each soul so vastly different from the others. That was why trapping or killing a God was as difficult as it was, because the soul and flesh were far more merged than a mortal’s, so any attacks or spells must influence flesh and souls both in the correct measure.

It took a lot of power and finesse to do the smallest thing to souls. Just moving them without them dying was difficult. For a while her siblings had been under the impression that a nasty spell that forcibly ejected the soul out destroyed it, until The One Who Waits told them they arrived in her domain regardless. The only effect the spell had that a normal death wouldn’t, was that the soul had been ripped out so quickly and completely the body didn’t know it was dead for some time.

A convincing display for mortals. Gods too, for a while. The One Who Waits bit her lip. She shouldn’t have told them it wasn’t working like they thought. They would have left it alone then. But she had trusted them. She had loved them. She still did, to some degree, though not without shame of her weakness.

So they went back to the drawing board. And now it looked like they had achieved the impossible while she had been chained.

But that made no sense. A soul wasn’t a simple thing! It wasn’t a cloth you could rip, it wasn’t a liquid you could dump into a void until it diluted to nothing. It wasn’t a stone that could be shattered. In fact The One Who Waits felt certain that even the essence of plants, an underdeveloped version of a soul, weren’t something easily taken apart. In fact, destroying just essence could have grave consequences on the fabric of reality, never mind a full soul.

While the blood seal had been complex and powerful, it couldn’t destroy a soul. She couldn’t be certain without seeing it in person, but it must have done something else.

She turned her head uncomfortably. She could feel the power of the seals behind her. The central blood seal was a menace, directly behind her. There was no way to take it in full detail at any time, she suspected her siblings had done this on purpose.

Of course, she was ‘seeing’ with more than her eyes, but the chains did more than physically restrain her. Even if she could turn completely around, she wouldn’t get any more information. With some of her godly senses inhibited, physical sight had become one of her only methods of decoding the blasted thing. And she could never see it fully anyway!

Maddening, this was all maddening. She shook her head and took a breath. Not that it was strictly necessary, but old habits die hard, she supposed. Then wondered when the habit of breathing had first taken root. She thought about this a lot, alone in the void.

She shook her head again. She could puzzle about her cryptic past some other time. Right now she needed to sort out what Alecto had done to the soul. Plus, she could feel that Narinder wasn’t being as careful as he should, so there was a chance he’d pop in, and she had to be calm and composed when he arrived. She was a goddess, and she could not let that faith waver for any reason.

She needed out. She needed to fix so much, and the damage her siblings were doing just became more and more obvious by the decade.

Chapter Text

Shaking his claws free of the vile heretic blood, Narinder twitched an ear, then headed towards the sound, careful to lay low in the grass.

More heretics, no surprise there. They had a healer, a summoner, and two archers. Healer and summoner first. Unless he wanted to be there all day.

With a careful step, he wound through the grass, barely making it shift. Silence was easy. He didn’t understand how other creatures could be so loud, or impatient. Every animal made mistakes, and they made the most when they thought they were safe.

So he waited. Eventually the summoner left to find an outhouse while the others finished with their task. A summoning circle of some kind. They were acting very stiff and nervous, so this was probably one of those get-it-the-tiniest-bit-wrong-and-we’re-all-dead kind of rituals. Good, it meant they were more focused on the lines of blood, bone, and candle than their surroundings.

The summoner didn’t have time to do anything. Well, he might’ve had a second to shout if Narinder didn’t start with the throat.

The black cloaked heretic swung wildly in an attempt to do damage, but Narinder was prepared and the summoner was not. He dodged easily and slid his claws further into the flesh. The animal dropped to the ground without another breath.

Quite neat, Narinder thought to himself. Blood got absolutely everywhere, and if any of this wretch’s compatriots had a decent sense of smell, they’d come running. A mistake on their part, but they wouldn’t know until it was too late.

The healer seemed adept and alert. Not even giving instructions to the other two, the healer dashed to their dead companion. Before their comrade could be found, Narinder’s claws scraped their back.

Swinging around, the healer called out for help. They didn’t have much other recourse, after all, healing magic was an-depth, time consuming study. Basic self-defense was barely a note in their training, they were supposed to be in the back line away from danger keeping others alive, after all.

The other two heard the call and rushed over. Healers had a difficult time healing themselves, so Narinder tossed the hapless animal to the side while he dealt with the archers.

They were pretty confident at first. They still had some distance and their bows. But Narinder wasn’t without some tricks of his own.

A fireball launched across the meadow, setting some of the grass alight and horribly damaging the face of one archer before they’d even had a chance to pull their arrow back. These guys appeared to be pretty professional, as the other kept their cool and fired without looking at their partner. Wise, if they were dead, panicking wouldn’t hello them, and if they weren’t, they would need the healer alive.

But they weren’t attacking some random villager. Narinder’s claws were sheathed with the Red Crown. Narinder was pleased that he could easily pull off the speed needed to bat the arrow away. He felt the magic in his claws connect, and change the arrows direction. The archer had no chance to dodge, just one of their own arrows in their shoulder.

Quickly Narinder closed the distance and raked his claws against the fallen one. Its corpse supplied fervor, it wasn’t getting up again. He had noticed that if he was quick every third strike or so had extra power in it, and with this third swipe, he killed the final archer.

The healer had a small ball of healing light now, but they hadn’t been fast enough. Resurrection belonged to his Lady, and Her alone. Tearing across the ground, he snapped healer’s neck, and all was done. Narinder smirked to himself.

Shamura had once taught him to never turn his back on a corpse, in case it wasn’t. Something that had helped him time and time again, but it was advice he didn’t really need now. The Crown knew when something was dead or alive, it wasn’t something he needed to check any longer.

The last camp had someone playing dead. They might’ve bled out if Narinder left them, but that was no guarantee of death. Narinder delivered the wretch to his Lady.

He was about to leave when the circle activated. Had their ritual been completed after all? He tried to dart out of range and hide, but a strong, choking energy grabbed him.

He couldn’t even claw at it, it was all around him. Gripping his flesh and trying to crush him to death.

Another force, from the Crown, directly from his Lady, pushed back, and he could breath. That was all he could do, hovering above the ground as two godly forces clashed around him.

Foras. It was the power of chaos incarnate, the blind god rising from a black pool, much like he had when Narinder was sent to be sacrificed.

Turning his head to look was about all Narinder could manage. The giant sheep was truly pathetic in light of his Lady. He was just a giant sheep, not a God, wrapped in power. His wool did not glow with a strange, comforting warmth, the black dripping substance from his eyes made him look broken and torn instead of defiant and strong. Narinder would smirk if he didn’t have to control his breathing. This pathetic giant had convinced others that he was a god? Ridiculous.

“Another cat? I thought we had checked… no… you were the one who was slaughtered. How live you still?”

Narinder wanted to laugh and ramble about the Chained Goddess he served. He felt her power around him, preventing Foras from doing any damage. Bound and trapped a realm away, and She still had more power than this pitiful excuse for a ram.

Foras hitched his breath with a hiss. “Her Crown? A vessel? Oh, strength you’ve been given. It is temporary. You will end as the others.” There was an increase in pressure, lazily pushed back by the force from Below.

“I smell your fear…” Foras grinned. “Turn tail, little kitty, this is not the place for you.” Like a pathetic coward, Foras slipped down into the puddle, away. The Meadow now felt more hostile than before.

With a thump, Narinder was dropped on the ground. He stood up quickly, waiting for a sudden flurry of soldiers, but none came. The air was still different, stronger. Narinder swished his tail in anticipation, his hackles were raising.

So, the entire Meadow was now angry with him. It would be harder to push his way through, but that changed nothing. The end would come to each Bishop in turn. He hissed at nothing. He wanted to growl too, but his growls always sounded… not very threatening. At least not if compared to a bear or dog.

The Crown was around his claws again, and he trekked deeper, ready for anything.

~~~~~

The One Who Waits rattled her chains in fury. Foras had just tried to ‘pop’ one of her followers, like he used to do a thousand years ago, just to make her wail.

Her right wrist was held by his wretched chaos. Things didn’t always die when something went wrong. Sometimes a little chaos made things better. That was the kind of magic that held her right arm. Alone it wouldn’t have been enough.

Sometimes things live through famine. Sometimes famine teaches one of new edible things that were previously untouched.

Disease sometimes left the body stronger than it found it. The strength could be passed down to children at times.

War was meaningless if no soldiers went home. New weapons to attack also meant better technology to defend.

She sighed, and let her arms hang limp while she flushed in lonely embarrassment. Foras had smelled fear, but it had’t come from the cat, it had come from her. Even if she could resurrect him, for a moment she was struck with thoughts of the cat seeing her as weak if she couldn’t fend off her brother. At least she had strength via the crown. Still, she was embarrassed the encounter had rattled her so.

Quietly she began to sort the recently deceased marine life in an attempt to think about other things. A god’s mind was expansive, but even they could achieve distraction if they worked at it.

Cats are often fond of fish, I wonder if my champion is fond of them too? She blinked. It was a quick, interrupting thought, but one she had was not expecting. Well, he was the one fated to get her out, and she could still see through the crown. She was always watching him. Perhaps it wasn’t too strange the thought had arrived unbidden.

Once again she physically shook her head to refocus, and continued to look over her realm.

~~~~~

Darting through Bright Meadow, Narinder stopped to breath. He’d been at this for three days straight, and the heretic population didn’t seem to be any lower. He sighed. Killing them was all well and good, but he didn’t feel he was making specific progress. The outer villages defended against heretics all the time. That didn’t stop the Old Faith from growing.

His ear twitched. Something skittered in the hidden paths. A smell of rot was settled in the breeze. He followed it.

The Crown was a sword for now. Not his favorite, but it still killed things just as well as anything else. He held it steady in one hand. Shamura had told him stories of ancient warriors long ago who trained every day to ‘master’ the sword. Narinder thought of those stories whenever he looked at it.

He thought of his favorite. The story of the Green Warrior. He tightened his grip. Like the Green Warrior of the story, death could not halt him now. He walked deeper into the hidden magical world that the heretics used as refuge.

The smell got worse, and the area got dark. Not a pocket world, but it felt separate from the Meadows in another way. This was something old and territorial. Something powerful and known enough that heretics would steer clear on their own. A monster den.

He finally got into sight range. There were corpses in various states of decay, hanging in the trees with something that looked like clumpy clear resin. There was no care in their arrangement; some were upside down, others slanted, some covered in mystery resin, others dangling by mere threads. Yet within the stench, he felt the presence of two things that still lived.

One was beneath him, the other in front. A sick rabbit, not much time left. Well, they could heal with some quiet rest and nutrition, but they looked half-starved, and they were hanging haphazardly by their wrists by the clear gunk.

The one beneath him was approaching, slowly. Narinder moved. It moved. He moved, it moved again. He held his sword at the ready. It paused. Finally, the hidden creature moved away, and pulled itself from the earth.

A large, fat, pink worm, or caterpillar-like creature. It had many limbs, and didn’t have the build of kin, yet looked intelligent all the same. He’d never seen anything like this.

“Oh darling!” Its voice rang out. It could speak. It had make-up plastered across its face in a manner that said it had never done so before. The lipstick was smeared off the mouth to the left, only one eye had mascara, the blush had been applied to make the creature seem sunburned on the cheeks, and smudges of color above its eyes implied an attempt at eye shadow. It looked at him.

“My, my, what a lovely little morsel wanders by! You look so muscular for such a little thing… do you wish to treat yourself? Come, the forest has plenty. Come!” It sounded weirdly cheerful. Syrupy and disingenuous.

Stories held grains of truth. As a kit he’d heard stories from the other travelers, of a hungry worm that caught you with stickiness like spider threads, hung you up to drain you of vitality, slowly consuming its prey as they wasted into nothing. If anything brought stories like that to life, it’d be this swollen worm.

There were stories of how to deal with it too. Narinder tried to remember. He gave a slight bow, then said “I shan’t sate myself from your stock. It is impolite to take a stranger’s food. I am Narinder, share your name that we be strangers no more. Though I wander with purpose, and do not promise to stay long enough to sip marrow.” Hopefully he did it right. The exact words weren’t important, but you had to give the correct intent.
The overly polite and flowery language was important too.

In response, the worm-like creature squeaked. “Oh, oh my! My manners! Do forgive me, darling, it has been so long since one has politely visited my home,” it wiggled its torso down in a mimic of a bow. Its voice was still oddly sing-song, but it sounded a little more respectful. Less like it was trying to lure. “I am Berith, this is my lovely little larder! If you travel with purpose, all the more reason to sip marrow at my table. You are welcome to nibble darling, it has been so long since I entertained!”

“Nibble?” Narinder looked at the sickly rabbit.

“Oh, not that one darling. It lives still. It clings to life so strongly, I thought I’d be able to eat it yesterday. Oh, am I losing my touch? Goodness me, it is difficult when they decide to be hardy and thin. But plenty of other things here, this one,” the worm poked a particularly bloated corpse with a nubby arm. “This one is very nice, bloated and crawling with maggots on the inside! Delicious and ready! Can’t you smell that delight?” Berith smiled.

Narinder wanted to vomit. If he felt lunch start to come up, he’d aim it at the despicable worm. He frowned.“I eat fresh meat,” his eyes were still on the rabbit.

“No accounting for taste I suppose,” Berith rolled his eyes. “The only living thing here isn’t much of a meal, but as my guest, you are welcome to it!” The wretched creature pulled the rabbit down with a tug. It winced, and looked at Narinder in terror.

Without much thought, Narinder opened the portal and sent it to the compound. The rabbit squeaked in surprise. Berith raised an eyebrow. Why did it have eyebrows? Did he poorly pluck them then draw them back on crookedly? Yes, yes of course he did.

“I can fatten it up at home,” he waved a hand nonchalantly. “I thank you for the… gift.”

Berith was all smiles at that. “Oh of course of course! Come visit often darling. I move a great deal, but imagine we will be seeing-” Berith’s eyes snapped to the sword, “- each other a great deal, in the days to come! My larder is always open to polite guests!”

Narinder nodded, bowing only slightly. Berith seemed pleased with the show of manners, and crawled over to the fat corpse he had been poking. Narinder saw a little claw appear on one of the limbs, and he booked it out of the small space.

Unfortunately he wasn’t fast enough and the scent of decay seemed to chase after him, making him gag .

~~~~~

Shamura looked at the ground. Everyone was doing their best to follow the instructions that Narinder had given in a rush before leaving.

They were complex. Rambles about ‘precipitation levels’ and ‘keep in mind the water table,’ and things of that nature. Shamura had heard complex lessons before, but they’d never seen such applied to gardening.

Shamura shook their head. Leshy, surprisingly, was getting the hang of it fairly quickly while the rest of them struggled.

With a proud smile, Shamura gave Leshy a pat on the head. His antler-antennae-branch things wobbled a bit, and he looked up. “What?”

“You got the hang of this so fast is all,” Shamura smiled. “I’m surprised and pleased.”

Lesly’s branches wiggled in a manner that implied embarrassment. “Narinder can’t be the only one doing all the work,” he mumbled with a half smile as he continued digging a trough in the earth between rows of planted waxberries.

Shamura looked at the other two. Heket and Kallamar looked as frustrated as they felt.

“I shall hunt a little.”

“Shamura, we don’t know this place! What if-” Kallamar was wringing his hands together.

“We will need to learn it eventually. I will start slow and carefully. Narinder had been gone for days… hopefully finding success. I do not wish for him to be the only one,” Shamura was already pulling at the gland at the base of their tailbone to make sticky thread. “I won’t be long. I will lay traps for the most part. I shan’t explore far.”

Kallamar still looked worried, but nodded. Leshy just continued to dig, looking quite cheerful, while Heket stood up from whatever mess she was making in the earth.

“Narinder can’t even die anymore, wouldn’t it make more sense to just let him go first? At least until he can tell us what’s around us.”

This was wise, and Shamura knew it. But deep down, this had nothing to do with familiarizing themself with their new home. It was just an excuse.

In truth they were restless. Narinder’s knowledge suddenly eclipsed them, and he was able to find flint to turn into spears. He’d knapped each spearhead himself as though he’d been doing it for years. Last week he wouldn’t have had the faintest idea how to do any of that.

Shamura was the guide and teacher for all their siblings. Not being that anymore… made them feel anxious and useless. These were feelings they would not trouble their younger siblings with.

But half-truths were better than full lies. “I know it would be wiser to wait. But I do not wish to curl up here like a coward for Narinder to do everything. This feels like something I can and should do. Worry not,” they held up their half-made bird trap. “I will only set traps. If I do not return in three hours, band together and be careful.” Shamura was generous with their time estimate, and began to walk out of the compound.

As they were leaving, the stone that they and their siblings had woken up on flared with red light. They jumped.

There was a shadow kneeling there, unmoving. Magic was holding them here, and yet also in a faraway place at the same time. Shamura carefully pointed their spear at it.

“Oh, you looked like that what Narinder was getting you guys. Guess I looked like that too,” Leshy darted over. “Does Narinder come back this way?” Leshy tried to poke it, and his claws floated through a shadowy miasma.

“Leshy, don’t poke strong magical… anything,” Shamura didn’t know what to call this stone. It bore some resemblance to transport stones, yet was vastly different at the same time.

“Nothing happened when I poked you guys. Did you even feel it?”

Shamura tried not to laugh at Heket’s annoyed frown at the idea of being prodded without her knowledge. It seemed they were all taking a break from the fields to observe this. Shamura couldn’t blame them. Leshy, despite only entering his teenage years this summer, was oddly adept in a way that made the rest of them feel rather stupid. Or at least, that’s how Shamura felt, they were pretty sure Kallamar was self-conscious of it too. Heket might not have even noticed.

The shadow in the circle didn’t do anything. After looking it over and doing their best to decipher the magic, Shamura concluded that only Narinder could break the seal around the shadow.

Suspicious as they all were, they slowly went back to their chores and duties. Shamura trekked out to the doors.

It was a strange place. An old wall with doors inset. One door open, with a teleportation stone being all it held. But it was one of the finest made that Shamura had ever seen, on par with the main stones situated near the temples. This wall looked oddly similar to those.

They remembered what Narinder had said, in his hasty first meeting in the stick-and-mud shack he called the temple. How the One Who Waits was a secret fifth Bishop the others had locked away.

Considering the wrath of the other four, they weren’t so sure about following one that made them uneasy. But Narinder… he’d come back different. Shamura, taking care to observe their surroundings, tried to drown out the thoughts of such for a moment, so they could focus on what they said they were doing.

But their mind kept going back to the sermon he gave. One before and one after the sacrifice of Agares. Both times, Narinder had… lit up, metaphorically and physically. They’d never seen that happen to any other preacher. His eyes had glowed white, and the crown on his head had shifted shape for a moment. It was creepy.

The way Narinder spoke about his new god wasn’t helping. He had gone from despising them all to… well, a zealot more or less. Narinder was always guarded with his emotions, and tricky to read at times. The sermons were no different, but Shamura could feel the undercurrent of devotion in his words.

Eventually Shamura returned early. They could not focus, and they didn’t want their brother to return to them injured or worse. They haven’t really done much in the way of scouting or trap setting. They probably had a pretty annoyed look on their face, since none of their siblings came forward to ask them about returning so quickly. Embarrassing.

Two more days passed. The shadow on the stone circle continued to not move, and was sort of an eerie bit of background for some time. They’d just become accustomed to ignoring it for now.

Leshy and Heket were doing good in the fields. Shamura and Kallamar had taken to building. There wasn’t enough for shelters, but they managed sleeping bags under some fairly large trees that would suffice for now. Heket gravitated towards cooking, as usual. There wasn’t much but wild waxberries, but that didn’t take a lot of effort.

Finally, Narinder returned, in a haze of black and red liquid light. Panting heavily, but apparently unharmed. He looked to his siblings with a nod, and they rushed over.

Leshy got there first. “Did you kill a god yet? Did you kill Foras?”

Narinder chuckled. “I’ve a long way to go until then. I need to grow in strength before I can do any real damage. But I think,” he stretched an arm, winding it in a slow circle with a scrunched up scowl. “I killed more heretics in the past five days alone than the entirety of my life before now.”

“You look uninjured,” Shamura said, looking them over with concern. Did that mean he’d been killed and sent back here by the One Who Waits?

“Teleporting back seems to have healed me. I wanted to make more progress, but…” Narinder looked thoughtful for a second. “I was running out of steam. Plus I’m… I’m not sure if I’m doing everything I’m supposed to. Shamura, could you teach me to meditate?”

If Shamura had eyebrows like mammalian kin, they’d be raised. Though they did have face muscles under their chitin that wiggled into an approximation of the expression.

“You never wanted to before.”

“I know, but… I want to see if I can talk to The One Who Waits without…” he was silent for a moment.

“Dying,” Heket finished for him with a frown. “Are you sure we should trust this… extra Bishop? One of death on top of that.”

Narinder nodded. “Yeah. I mean, let’s face it, She’s already done what the others claimed is impossible. She has kept Her promises to me so far.”

“But that’s how it always starts Narinder!” Shamura said. “No one would follow any god if they started with sacrifice and bloodshed! She’s already demanded a sacrifice, which you gave her!”

Narinder’s ear twitched a bit, as though he caught a sound. “The One Who Waits wanted to undo magic her siblings made. You can tell by looking at them that they were constructed by the other Bishops, not her! Plus she specifically asked me to find someone already close to dying.” he sighed. “Our lives already belong to her regardless.”

“This sounds more and more like something we just don’t have a choice in!” Kallamar shouted.

“Well, if he’s right, we kind of don’t,” Leshy pointed out.

Narinder’s ears pulled back. He looked mad, but he took a breath. “You guys saw the Bishops. Did they really look special in any way except their size?”

“Yes, they were wreathed in power and-“ Narinder cut Kallamar off.

“They are nothing compared to Her. They are cold, She is warm. They seek power, She already has it. They are always angry, She is patient. She…” the skin on the inside of Narinder’s ears was turning red. “She is kind. Especially compared to them.” Kallamar tilted his head a little at this. Narinder’s ears got redder.

“She still demanded sacrifice,” Shamura shook their head. “I don’t think that’s kind.”

“She didn’t demand. I didn’t have to undo the seal, I wasn’t planning to, and She wasn’t angry about that. Then Agares offered himself, and he wanted to go that way. So I let him. I…” Narinder looked away. “I suspect he would’ve cut his own throat if I didn’t. He had a knife tucked into his belt, and it wasn’t for cutting carrots.”

Kallamar’s own brow twitched upwards. “Narinder, you don’t know that-“

“I could feel his death coming!” Narinder snapped. He bent his ears back in frustration. He took a breath and continued. “I wasn’t expecting that, and I wasn’t planning on bringing it up. I mean, what if it was a one time fluke? But as sure as I know the sky is blue, I knew hewas going to die by a blade in a moment. It didn’t have to be mine.”

Everyone was now silent. Narinder flicked his tail in annoyance. “Maybe I won’t always feel it. I hope not, that’s not something I want to be aware of every day. But Iknew then that either I killed him and unsealed the door, or he killed himself and the door stayed shut. It was a lose-lose situation from the start.”

Narinder was glaring, but looking away at the same time. He was telling the truth. There was another swish of his tail and his ears were turning red again.

“Alright,” Shamura said, quietly. This brought up a different slew of questions, but it seemed Narinder had already said more than he wanted to. The others were also silent, thinking this over.

“Will you have to do the same to the other three doors?” Leshy asked, quietly.

“I don’t know,” Narinder’s brow knitted in thought. “She doesn’t seem to be in a hurry, and She wasn’t mad when I wasn’t going to do it. Shamura,” Narinder looked sharply at them. “Please teach me how to meditate.” His tail was doing an angry swish. Narinder was always embarrassed about asking for help. Shamura could never fathom why, but their brother was sounding more normal, more like himself, so they nodded.

“Think you could take care of that first?” Heket pointed at the shadow on the stone.

“What?” The black cat’s gaze followed the direction Heket indicated. At the sight of the stone, he said “oh yeah.” Puffing his chest a bit in confidence, he walked over to the seal, and broke it.

A gray, sick rabbit was now on the stone. Shivering they looked up. “Hel-” before the rabbit could finish her thought, she vomited.

Narinder’s nose scrunched up at the smell, Leshy blinked all five eyes, and Heket made a displeased retching sound of her own. But Kallamar was kneeling beside her in a heartbeat. “Are you alright?”

“I- the worm… I… where?” She sputtered after heaving a few more times.

“You’re safe,” Kallamar gently patted the rabbit’s back. “I promise you’re safe. Breath… you need rest. Where did you come from?”

“Found her in some talking worm’s nest,” Narinder scowled. “She needs bed rest. Badly.”

“We only have five cots and-” before Heket could point out any more problems, Narinder cut in.

“She can use the one you made for me, I don’t need to sleep,” a lie, he looked tired to Shamura. “I brought some more resources as well. I have meat that needs prepped, could you dry it Heket?”

“I don’t exactly have a drying rack,” her wide shoulders shrugged.

“Hmmm… well, make something that’ll keep and I’ll see if I can make one.”

“You can’t preserve shi-“ Heket caught the scowl on Shamura’s face. “Shhhhanything without jars, a root cellar, or you know, some salt Narinder.”

“I ran into instructions for a teleport along the coast. Pilgrim’s Passage, it looked like a village. Maybe they’ll have salt to trade. I’ll check on that before the day’s over. Kallamar, could you get J- our new friend, settled?”

“Yes, are you sure about your sleeping bag though?”Shamura tried to intervene.

“I’m sure, I found enough resources to make a few more. I’ll just make a new one later. I found enough meat it’ll be a problem if we don’t preserve it,” a bit surprising, Narinder was a good hunter, but hadn’t he killed a lot of heretics too? Where’d he get the time? Narinder’s tail flicked and he turned back to them. “Shamura, teach me about meditation when I get back, okay?”

“Alright. How long do you think you’ll be gone though?” Shamura carefully watched Kallamar and the mystery rabbit out of the corner of two eyes, while looking to Narinder.

“I don’t know, depends on what I find.”

“Then I might explore the edges of this place, to set some traps.”

“Actually,” Narinder looked thoughtful. “Looks like birds have already pecked at the crops a bit.”

“I shooed them as soon as I saw them,” Leshy said, in the quiet pathetic voice that he had when he was worried he’d done something wrong.

“I forgot birds have a tendency to go after crops. Shamura, before you explore, could you make and set traps around the crops? If the birds are coming anyway, might as well take advantage of it. Hopefully I’ll be back by then, before it’s dark. You can explore the edges with me tomorrow. Sound like a plan?”

Shamura was part proud, part concerned. Normally they would be the one with plans. They didn’t want Narinder to work himself to death… even if that happened to please his new ‘god.’

“You need sleep too.”

“The Crown removes the need,” Narinder tapped the side of it, the eye looking about of its own apparent volition. “It removes the need to eat too. Whatever food was made for me can go to J- our rabbit friend.”

“How are you so certain?”

“I’ve only napped once in the past few days, and I haven’t eaten a thing. But I don’t feel tired or hungry-” Narinder caught Shamura’s claw that they’d launched at his face with barely a motion. “See?” He said with his infuriatingly smug grin. “Wide awake, I’m fine.”

Shamura put their claw down and sighed. “There are necklaces that remove the need for sleep, it doesn’t do good things to the body though,” they folded their arms and tapped their foot. “I’m worried.”

“I know you are. But hey, I can eat and sleep if i want to. I’ll take a nap and have a snack before you teach me meditation. Then you should have enough silk afterwards to make more traps, so you’ll have enough to set when we explore.”

With a huff, Shamura silently conceded. Narinder understood the motion. He smiled. “I don’t know how long I’ll be at Pilgrim’s Passage, hopefully they have salt to trade. If not, I don’t know where I’ll get it.”

“Traders in the wilderness, like before, I’d imagine,” Shamura said. “Please, I know you can’t die… but you still need to be careful.”

“I will be, don’t worry,” he gave his bell an absentminded tap, and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards a bit at the chime.

A emblem of the Bishops, the symbol of the Shepherd, leader of the flock. This made Shamura scowl. Which made Narinder frown, then sigh.

“Bye,” his tail swished, angrily. Shamura didn’t understand what he was so upset about, they hadn’t said anything. They watched their younger brother step on portal once again, then left to find Kallamar and the sick rabbit Narinder had released into their new ‘home.’

~~~~~

That was embarrassing. Before walking into the new area properly, Narinder checked his surroundings. It was quiet save for birdsong and distant waves. The teleportation stone didn’t look worn, but it didn’t look abandoned either. A path led down a hill, through trees and towards the sound of waves. Narinder inhaled and then pinched at his nose.

He hadn’t said, nor would he ever reveal, that while he hadn’t died on his first mission, he found himself before his Lady all the same. It wasn’t bad to call her ‘the Lady’ instead of ‘The One Who Waits’ was it? Maybe he should ask next time he saw Her. Maybe it was stupid to ask. Maybe it was important. He wasn’t used to this. The One Who Waits was so freaking long though!

When he’d been pulled into her realm once again, he had been surprised, and worried that he’d done something wrong. Gods didn’t normally know reason. They were powerful enough not to care. But She had praised his progress, against his expectations. He didn’t really know how he’d made progress when all he’d done was kill heretics, which others often did anyway. But She seemed happy all the same.

So happy, in fact, She simply gave him a power that was supposedly not possible by anyone except Gods. Sure, Gods could give you fractions of their power, if you sacrificed and prayed. Yet She’d given it to him like a trinket. He could read minds now.

He’d been blown away, and then he’d had to talk to his siblings, and was… really surprised at the vitriolic thoughts his siblings had of the God he was now the vessel of. Shamura especially. He’d thought they’d band together and get through this like everything else. It didn’t occur to him how fractured they might feel on the matter. What was there to feel worried about?

But they hadn’t seen Her. The thought gave him a weird bubble of warmth in his chest that made him shuffle uncomfortably in the approaching evening. He shook his head, and wondered what to do about his siblings. He thought about what he heard from their minds. His ears felt warm again.

Carefully he pressed his fingers around his ears, claws brushing ever so slightly against his skin. He wanted to rip his traitorous ears off. He knew they went red when he was embarrassed. It was weird to hear someone thinking about it as it happened when he talked to Shamura.

For a few moments, as a sea breeze occasionally rolled over him, he frustratedly pulled at his ears and tried not to think of anything at all.

His siblings thought he was acting zealous. Okay, he was acting differently, he’d give them that. He hadn’t expected to meet a kind god ever, so he was a little more…willingthan normal, but that wasn’t zealotry.

This was fine. He’d just… take a minute here to gather his cool, and look for salt. Salt salt salt salt. That was all he needed to think about right now. He started to walk down the hill as the evening began to roll over the quiet world. He heard waves in the distance. Waves. Salty air. Trade. The weather. Think about those things. Anything but the worry of his siblings and the warm bubbly feeling that felt blasphemous and right at the same time.